I grew up with a pretty stellar cast of role models (not referring to the movie here, though it too has a pretty stellar cast and is totally worth the rental). My parents, my siblings, a selection of teachers, professors, and instructors from high school through college, and the all the other nut balls who have wandered in and out my heart leaving deep, sturdy footprints. This isn't something I noticed as it was happening. Partly due to their typically humble natures and partly due to my own willful arrogance, it took years to realize just how influential these people have been in the arduous shaping of me. I've always been a know-it-all. Sue me.
Knowingly or not, my mind subconsciously clung to these people, perhaps because all minds work this way. After all, we begin our lives completely dependent on guardians and caretakers and spend roughly two decades weaning off of the convenience. For years, we gradually gather responsibilities and grow toward self-sufficiency in the hopes that we will become mature, capable, and happy human beings. For those of us who are fortunate, this whole process happens within earshot of a role model's unconditional, undivided attention. They are the wings our minds tuck themselves under when storms force us back to the nest, silently (or, in my case, kind of obnoxiously) nudging us toward our fullest potential.
Today, I find myself at a crossroad lingering somewhere between adolescence and adulthood in the vasty, murky grey of "young adulthood." It's now nine months post college and I am left severely leaning on my support system as if I just grew a pair of new, noodle-y legs and am haphazardly hobbling to find my feet. I work on rectifying this uncertainty everyday, but the only thing I'm sure of is how unsure I am. How will I know when I'm ready to step back from my familial crutches? When will I at long last 'come into my own?'
I think the problem has something to do with motivation. In exercise especially, we grow up with coaches, captains and Marine big brothers whose experience makes us want to follow them. They see things more clearly than we do; they know how much we can take and how to keep pushing us through our own self-doubt. Without these leaders, motivation requires a scarily powerful strength of will. In fact, it's so scary and so powerful that people will pay a personal trainer hundreds of dollars an hour just to shirk the responsibility. The laziest move only when pushed, and pushers don't come cheap (just ask your friendly, neighborhood crackhead).
I was financially fortunate in this matter. Growing up I had big bro AJ and he didn't charge a red cent. He awed me with how much he knew about weight lifting (breathing and form, circuits and rotations...) and he imparted all of his wisdom onto me through brutal, demanding study and practice. But years later, without AJ to guide, motivate and protect me from myself, what is a grasshopper to do without his guru? The question has been plaguing me for a while now, but today, in the depths of the weight room with nephews in tow, I finally found clarity.
At some point in the last few years, completely unbeknownst to me, the mantel had passed. I grew up, AJ moved away, and now there is no one in the whole of this house more qualified and decorated in physical fitness than me. I am guru now; the burden of motivation is mine.
A couple of days ago I wrote about my nephew, Cole, as my self-appointed personal trainer. Even as I was writing the words I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, like something out-of-joint was staring me right in the face. The fact of the matter is, Cole is just 9-years old. Sure he's funny, he's smart for his age, and he definitely adds to my workout experience, but what the hell does he know about physical fitness? It's not his job to motivate me and it's rather pathetic of me to divert the responsibility and laugh it off as a funny picture. This is my gym; I'm senior officer of this rickety-ass bucket. He's not the Mick here, I am and today I started acting like it.
Cole and Miles are my new project. So is Mary. So is Bianca and anyone else who dares to study in my dojo of pain. When their in my weight room, I choose their exercises, I critique their form, and I set the rules until I'm comfortable that they know what they're doing. I make them wear shoes, and put their shirts back on, and keep the equipment tidy because they must learn to respect this space. I will not let them quit when they are giving up on themselves because that's my fucking job and I'm going to do it. My heart swells with purpose today and I know now that that's how one self-motivates. That purpose made me go for that extra rep today; that purpose made me push for 5 minutes more; and that purpose is what'll make me come back tomorrow because if I don't what a waste it will be. I will only be the first of all the people I'm letting down. I get to be the role model for a change. This is how we come into our own.
Good way to close out the week. Happy day 7.
Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.
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